


What's Soft And What's Easy

by eracitor



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Smoking, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 18:40:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11880471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eracitor/pseuds/eracitor
Summary: A little soft friendship/bromance between Ilse and Wendla.Note: The bold indicates that someone is signing rather than speaking. It also is not a direct translation, as American Sign Language has vastly different grammar and syntax. The bold is how an interpreter would read their signing.





	What's Soft And What's Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I edit this every now and then if I see grammatical/cultural errors. Everything is a work in progress. Thanks

Standing outside Melitta and Thea’s house, a cigarette between her lips, Ilse was reminded why she was no longer friends with these airheads anymore. Her friendship with Ernst had come out of necessity, when all their superficial drama had seemed so pointless compared to her real life problems. Besides, Ernst and Ilse needed each other because only he knew of her need to survive, period. These silly girls didn’t understand having to trust your own intuition. Especially when Ilse wouldn't really call it intuition. She had no experience or wisdom. There was no explaining the logic behind Ilse’s decisions because when an adult isn’t around to choose for you, you just have to choose. And hope for the best.

The billowing smoke from the cigarette soothed her, perhaps even more than the actual nicotine. She wasn’t too worried about the smoke seeping into her clothes; in fact, when she’d arrived Thea had immediately wrinkled her nose and asked her if she bathed in an ashtray. Whatever. Whenever she stayed the night at Ernst’s, no one ever minded.

 **Hey** , Wendla appeared in the dark, waving a hand at Ilse. God, no. Not her. She was the worst of the bunch. Ilse remembered playing with Moritz, Melchior, and Wendla when she was very young. Back when things were fun and Mom always sent Ilse out to play for as long as possible. How quickly kids are forced to grow up! Ilse went from playing hide and seek to real-life hiding and fleeing from a treacherous, horrible ugly man. Ilse grimaced. Wendla hadn’t changed; she was willfully ignorant and completely stubborn. Still a child.  **You shouldn’t smoke. It might cause lung cancer.**

 **I don’t plan on living long enough to have lung cancer,** Ilse joked, an instinctual smile touching her face. She would never be unpleasant to Wendla, because it wasn’t _her_ fault she was naive and ignorant, the same way it wasn’t anyone’s fault that Ilse was damaged and confused. Besides, Ernst and Ilse had a vow to always help people, whether they truly deserved it or not, which Wendla didn't. Life may suck, but it didn’t suck enough for Ilse and Ernst to neglect the people around them. _It will never be bad enough for that,_ Ilse reminded herself.

 **That’s not funny,** Wendla frowned, eyeing Ilse’s cigarette and forcing a cough out. Sighing, Ilse dropped the cig, stamping it out with one boot.

 **I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Did you need something?** Ilse inquired, trying to get to the point that Wendla was obviously leading up to. It wasn’t like Ilse and Wendla were by any means close anymore. Their entire friend group was entirely divided these days. Moritz sometimes hung out with your little group but other than that it was really just Ilse, Ernst, and Hanschen hanging out. Ilse didn't see Melchior or the others boys. She didn't usually hang out with the girls either. Tonight had obviously been a lapse of judgement.

 **Why do you always say that?** Wendla asked, and suddenly Ilse wondered if she’d somehow insulted the younger girl. Wendla was in her slippers, tank top, and pajama shorts, so she obviously was going to sleep before she’d decided to come out and talk to Ilse. But that wasn’t Ilse’s fault. She hadn’t invited her. She couldn't think of any other reason Wendla might be offended.

**I’m sorry?**

**No. You always ask if I need something from you. Can’t I just talk to you?** Wendla signed, a look of fierceness and confidence brightening her eyes. Ilse wanted to laugh but knew she shouldn’t. Ilse could not imagine in what world Wendla had any say in Ilse's life, let alone on things like mannerisms or bad habits, yet Wendla had the gall to walk out here with her nose up like that.  _Why would I possibly think that people need something from me?_ Ilse thought ferociously.  _Perhaps because people_ always _want something from me._

 **Take your lecture elsewhere,** Ilse snapped, her signs sharp and somewhat sloppy. She always felt like she was an overfilled mug when she was angry, like she was spilling over and losing control. She hated it. She didn’t want to become hateful and spiteful like her father. She was aware of the cycle of abuse; it had been burned into her mind. Back when she still attended public school and still lived with her dad, the lecture had nearly traumatized her. “Often the one who is abused becomes the abuser,” the teacher had said, but Ilse couldn't remember the rest of the lecture; she’d been scared stiff for the rest of the day. She hadn’t realized up until that point that anything bad could come from her taking the beating, as long as her mom didn’t. As long as her little brother didn’t. She’d been wrong. Nothing good came out of any abuse. Ever.

Running away had been the best decision she’d ever made but it didn’t make her any less susceptible to the ugliness that filled her genes. Ilse tried not to let it get to her, tried to calm herself before she got too bad. She pulled out another cigarette, no longer caring whether or not Wendla cared about the smoke. She lit it, watching the smoke drift into the sky. She began to feel calmer.

 **Can I try?** Wendla asked suddenly. Ilse eyed her cautiously. On the one hand, Ilse wouldn’t past Wendla to smoke one to prove to Ilse how bad they were for her. On the other hand, Ilse wasn’t Wendla’s mother, and if she wanted to try, Ilse didn’t have a problem. _One cigarette doesn’t start addiction,_ Ilse reasoned. _It’s many cigarettes that creates an ugly habit. One that I love so dearly._

 **Sure.** Ilse replied, sliding one out of the pack and handing it to her. Ilse stuck it in her mouth, before spatting it out. Ilse burst out laughing. **You put the wrong end in your mouth.** Ilse took the cigarette, still not even lit, and put the right end in Wendla’s mouth, still laughing a little, although a little unnerved by the proximity. Ilse really hadn't been anywhere near this close to Wendla since grade school. Everything about Wendla was small, which Ilse really liked. A little nose, small seashell-like ears, a small but pouty mouth, and even her eyebrows were thin, although Ilse couldn’t tell if that was natural or not. She was quite a bit shorter than Ilse, although Ilse was about average at 5’6”. Ilse hated it because it made her want to protect Wendla. It made her want to shield the world from Wendla, in hopes that nothing taints her innocence. Her heart pained, thinking about how much she cared about her friend, even if she didn't want to.

Ilse lit the cigarette, showing Wendla how to suck in on it, and she predictably coughed all the smoke out as soon as it hit her lungs.

 **You like that?** Wendla wondered, holding it skeptically.

 **Well, I don’t cough up a lung smoking it,** Ilse pointed out. With that in mind, Wendla took another drag, although this time it looks much smoother. She still hacked a little, but she blew it out like a normal person. Ilse found, after a moment, she really didn't mind Wendla's presence as much as she tried to believe. Sure she was superficial but she didn't try to be meaningful when she wasn't. She wasn't trying to be experienced when she so obviously wasn't. Wendla was surprisingly real.

 **So why did you start smoking?** Wendla wondered, her eyes seemingly probing Ilse’s for something, but Ilse didn’t know what. Ilse didn’t have anything to hide. Not really. Not usually. But what was she supposed to say? Everyone does? Everyone who goes through what Ilse went through does? Everyone who works as many hours as Ilse does only to go home to the shitty appartment Ilse does smokes? And it helps? There was no reason why people smoked; shit got real and they did.

Ilse laughed, a little at the question and a little bit due to her thought process before answering. **Why does anyone? Stress.**

 **Like what?** Wendla continued, her big brown eyes watching her like Ilse wish she didn't. 

Ilse gave her a look. **I moved out of my parents house when I was 14. I got my first job illegally and stayed at my cousin’s house whenever I got kicked out of apartments or the houses of men I got to take me in. When I was 16, I got my own trailer, again illegally. Most of my life has been spent stressfully.**

Wendla lowered her eyes, and Ilse wondered if she was trying to imagine this. There was no way she could possibly understand. Her mother and father were functional and happily married. Her sister married her high school sweetheart, and if Wendla got any closer to dating Melchior, she’d probably do the same thing. Ilse couldn’t expect her to know, or to read between the lines. That Ilse had slept her way into living quarters, that Ilse had to do it all alone for a very long time, that she’d spent her life doing what wasn’t right so that she could fix something that wasn’t right and it didn’t make it any easier. It didn’t make it any less shitty of her to illegally buy things or steal things or use people. But she’d had to do it, to survive.

Bringing the cancerstick to her mouth, Wendla must have realized this too. She didn’t offer Ilse an apology or even any look of pity. She just blew out her smoke with Ilse’s, and somehow, this redeemed Wendla in Ilse’s eyes, that she knew she couldn’t understand and didn’t try to make herself feel better for not understanding. She did what Ilse and Ernst  did for each other and just was there for her.

 **I think I’m getting better,** Wendla signed, and nearly burnt herself, the end falling onto her signing hands.

 **You can flick off the end once it’s burned,** Ilse replied, showing her how it was done, and Wendla copied her, and Ilse was momentarily calm and content, the way she’d wanted to be when she came out here.

 **I’ll never know what you’re going through, and maybe none of our friends will,** Wendla said finally when they both had burned through their fags. **But we’re still here for you.**

 **Thanks,** Ilse smiled, looking her straight in the eye so she knew that Ilse genuinely meant it.

 **Are you coming inside?** Wendla asked, glancing inside. Ilse considered it. Originally, when she came out her she knew her plan had been to convince herself to ditch, to say she had something urgent to attend to and then go to Ernst’s house, but now she felt glad that she was visiting her friends again. Maybe she was being a little cynical, and she felt a cold chill run down her spine. She wish she could shake off that feeling. Cynicism really wasn't her style. She may have been handed shit, but her friends were good people and they loved her. She'd really missed them without even realizing it. She almost felt like crying, at this new relevation, but she didn't. She just smiled, resisting the urge to hug Wendla for helping her figure it out for herself. She nodded, holding Wendla’s hands gently as they walked inside.


End file.
